


Redemption

by lufthexe



Series: Fire and Blood [2]
Category: Mad Max Fury road, Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lufthexe/pseuds/lufthexe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She cannot feel joy, or even an over abundance of hope, but there, deep down, it feels like redemption. </p>
<p>Furiosa smiles, and puts on her warpaint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption

Furiosa does not long for the Green place. She does not pine for the Mothers she has been lost to. Hope is a dangerous emotion, and comes in short supply. She knew the way, once; in a dream. But memories have no place with War Boys and the sons of Immortan Joe, all of whom knew only violence and survival, clamoring for favor, for food, for water. For a glorious death. Perhaps that is what Furiosa should have wished for, wanted. 

But no. Vengeance played close in her mind, followed by redemption. 

But redemption meant admitting guilt, and in survival, there was no guilt allowed.  
________________________________________

When she loses and arm in a rig crash with the Bikers that she barely walks away from, she cannot spare the time to grieve. Any weakness is starved out in the Citadel, and an arm is not the worst wound she has suffered. 

The scarce women of the Citadel talk in hushed whispers, too, of horrors worse than the Wastelands, of the fate of the Breeders, and Furiosa must bite her tongue until copper coats her mouth at the thought of that fate. But hate is only temporary. Righteous fury, however, is immutable. 

When they name her Imperator, and her wheel hooks onto the rig she is to drive, it feels as close to freedom as she has ever known. The hot, arid wind against her tanned skin, and her War Boys following, it is deceptively close to power. It is so deliciously close that one could forget for a month, a year, what else there was besides the drive, the fighting. The respect between the War Boys and her is deceivingly close to trust, to kinship. It is easy to forget dreams of green when even in sleep the only thing that surrounded was sand and blood, dark and gritty. 

But even the Imperator title, while better than Breeder, still chafes. For she is still his Imperator, always his; never truly her own. It sits like another brand underneath her skin, tangible only to her. It is a constant reminder of why she cannot lose herself in this place. 

And the girls. God, the girls. She cannot leave them to be used and discarded like empty husks of life, their worth boiled down and stripped away only to be Breeders.

Furiosa is hardened, battle-worn; her arm a testament of her fortitude. And yet, she wakes with green on the fringe of her vision, bile in her mouth when she thinks of the swell of Splendid's stomach, and how the Dag is soon to follow, as well. 

She is no savior, but she can try. And gods, does she. 

The rig is alternately a blessing and a curse; it's cumbersome mass a clear beacon to Immortan Joe, yet protecting them from the worst of the War Boy's attacks. 

There is time to grieve the battered hull of her rig, her pride, later. For now, she watches the girls sleeping in the backseat, Max fitfully nodding off next to her. She cannot feel joy, or even an over abundance of hope, but there, deep down, it feels like redemption. 

Furiosa smiles, and puts on her warpaint.

**Author's Note:**

> Might be a bit disjointed, but I love writing Furiosa. Will be posting more


End file.
